A Trickster Who Doesn't Know Lonliness
by Lhye
Summary: For the sake of protection, L has kept himself closed off to the world. In isolation, a person will not grow. The Kira case has forced him to reveal himself. Prolonged interaction will leave him vulnerable in ways he couldn't imagine..
1. The Crouching Man

**Authors Note: **It's been at least a year since I wrote any fanfiction, and only once in a while did I read any. This is my first try in a while and I'm starting off with a bit of a tough series to write about. But I'm going to put a lot of effort in...please enjoy my said effort.

Full Summary: L has lived in isolation; no friends, no family, limited only to contact with Watari and authorities around the world through a voice scrambler and a computer screen. The Kira case has not only become the greatest mystery of the world, but it has forced him to expose himself; regular human interaction is something he had always wanted to minimalize. Being with people means personal change, exposure, vulnerability...it would put him at risk.

**Chapter 1: The Crouching Man**

In a darkened room, lit only by the dull, unearthly illumination by a series of computer screens, large and small, at various angles suspended by a network of metal bars, a young man sat crouched in the center of it all. The skeletal outline of steel fingers was arranged carefully, in a round dome overhead, the only puncture in the hemisphere directly overhead, in the center. An impression was given that a pillar might have belonged there, since the space stood out; the void could have been filled by the crouching man.

Slightly gaunt, a pale face turned loyally to the screen directly in front of him. Empty, perfectly round dark pupils correlated eerily with the round shape of his eyes. The symmetry was kept complete with dark half-circles formed long ago under his eyes, and yet not the balance, as instead of dark skin, his eyelids were was white as the rest of his complexion. Eyebrows hidden by randomly spiked sections of hair and kept cautiously out of his eyes, his eyes remained fixated on the screen.

The entire structure was painstakingly constructed in the exact middle of the room. The round being that he had placed himself in was equally distanced from all walls, all corners of the room. An length of at least ten feet of barren space surrounded him, and it was here he would stay, for as long as necessary.

Knees to his chest, he keenly observed the texture of the floor under him with his feet; no socks, no shoes to hinder his senses as to the surface beneath him. Cold, hardwoods floors, bare as his own eyes, polished and shined to mildly mirror back his reflection, smooth under his toes, only broken by the parallel lines running throughout the surface.

The weather was not important. The time was a hindrance. The construction project that may or may not have been proceeding a few buildings away was not a concern to him. The number of seconds, minutes, hours he had spent in that exact spot was of no importance. The sleep or the nutrition he might have needed at this point was also not an issue; he felt no needs of urgency.

What did intrigue him was the screen in front of him, and the remote control placed beside the outside of his right foot. His fingers were kept at appropriate buttons; his index was on the channel button, his middle on the volume, his ring finger on the mute, and his thumb and pinky stayed firmly on either side of the device to keep it firmly in place.

All he watched was the news channel; the weather, the time, construction projects around the city, like clockwork, was on the channel 4 news, and his ring finger pressed MUTE. Something in his mind clicked, and he changed the channel, up, up, up, up, up, to, making sure with his index finger to press the button every three fourths of a second, exactly. It took about that long to mentally process what he was watching, so it only took that long to know if he was watching a cartoon, a talk show, a game show, a sitcom, finally another news channel at 32.

The MUTE was pressed again, and sound filled the room, echoed slightly off the television screens and then off the walls and back to his reliable ears, hidden by unruly black hair. Deciding it was too soft, his reliable finger, so detached and automatic from his own mind, pressed the volume up to an acceptable level.

The second disturbance was the opening of the door. A wave of light blasted in from the entrance before instantaneously settling on the floor. Footsteps clacked on the hard wood floor, properly shined black shoes reflected in the equally-as-attended-to floor and they walked with a constant pace over to his technological jungle gym.

Familiar, reliable footsteps, and he knew his safety was not in any peril. The young man needed not even look up.

What did startle him slightly was the halt, then retreat of the footsteps, followed by the light, located directly overhead, flicking on with a strong, sudden surge of power.

He didn't blink, but instead his index finger, almost independently, felt its way to the POWER button and turned off the screen.

Watari ducked his head and entered the cage his master had made for himself, and set a plate of a slice of a three-layered strawberry cake, cookies, and a fork on the floor directly in front of him, in front of the exposed toes and under the shadow of protruding knees.

"L," his kindly, demure voice resonated softly in the empty room, "Finish this soon; it's almost 10 in the evening. We should be at the hotel in less than an hour so we are present before the members of the NPA."

Almost 10? So he had been there for almost 3 hours.

Already his fingers were sticky with sugar and cake, as he pulled a corner off the top layer on the three-layer cake, and licked the sweet strawberry cream from the bottom. His eyes rolled up towards the ceiling, and it took him a moment to reply, as he dropped the leftover vanilla cake between his waiting lips. He hadn't yet swallowed it when he replied, "Very well. I'll be ready soon."

Satisfied, Watari nodded, turned, bowed his head again to exit the contraption surrounding L, and walked out of the room as properly as he had entered.

Meanwhile, L sat as he continued his 'meal', only now slowly becoming aware of the hunger accumulated during his time watching TV. Kira had killed thirteen people today, not counting twelve FBI members. A particular news channel had been kind enough to run through the entire, complete(or so it claimed) list of all the criminals to die today by heart attack.

Vaguely he had wondered if it was time wasted. He already received lists of dead criminals from the police. As important as the facts he knew to be true were, through experience and observation did he notice how much influence the media had on the opinion of the people. Interestingly enough, they had accurately reported the names, times of death, and the photos of the criminals. What plagued him was immediately after the report there was a story about a deranged, middle-aged man who had abused young son to the point of mental damage before he was arrested. The young man half-expected to see that name of the list of criminals dead by heart attack within a few days.

14 minutes went by as he finished his food, he calculated. They would have to leave in 7 minutes in order to be safely get to the hotel before the number of whittled-down NPA members whom he was to meet.

On the front of his feet, he walked himself out of a small opening in his man-made aluminum and steel bubble, and stood up; or at least, stood in the comfortable posture he was accustomed to, at which most mothers would 'tsk' at.

Not that he was afraid of people. He simply, for his own safety, had to keep his face, his identity, location, everything, as secret as possible. From the average person he was under little threat in a casual meeting, he understood occasional contact with people was considered healthy for the mind, and yet he felt that need heavily satisfied with the voices that came through his monitor speakers. If there was no need for his face to be shown, he would not.

And yet, Kira had stripped him of this privilege. Having caught the world's attention, Kira dumbfounded every halfway respectable authority and organization in the world. This mysterious, formidable foe was as unseen as he was, and had pried him out of his own sanctuary, and forced him to reveal himself to the five impressive officers who were determined, each for their own reasons, to stay on the Kira case, even if that meant cooperating under him. Of course, there had been hesitance to work with someone whose face they didn't know, and in this respect it was as much their fault as it was Kira's.

Logically, though, he understood their position, and it was only after this train of thought did he decide he would have to give himself up to at least these select few if he were to continue the investigation into Kira. Had logic not won a heavy affirmative, it would not have sufficed.

L was a man of logic, and he abided by it above all else. If not logic, what was there?

Shuffling silently to the doorway, his back still curved and his hands in his pockets, he continued to project the image of a crouching man, even while walking. The sullied, sticky dishes were left on the floor, right where he had been. The fork, licked clean afterwards, rested upside down on the edge of the plate, the four slender, silver limbs balanced so the utensil wouldn't fall.

It only took him 8 seconds to reach the door, and he flicked the switch behind him as he exited. The room was enveloped in black, the only light the rods of reflection beaming from the round, semi-shiny metal arms of his cocoon of the past 2 hours and 43 minutes. And as he closed the door behind him, they too, became dark.

**The Crouching Man End**

**Ending Note: **A chapter of nothing... Probably it's been figured out when this chapter took place; Volume 2, directly after the Raye Penber/Naomi Misora/FBI incident. I'll try and somewhat look to the manga for guidance concerning time line and plot. That being said, please make sure you've read or watched the series at least a fair way, because that'll make for spoilers for you later on...

Being that this is the first chapter, some points need clarification:

I do a bad job at summarizing. Basically the readers are to sit back and watch L deal with being around other people. After all, 'human interaction' changes a person...which is really what I'm getting at.

The title is from a line of _Alumina_, the first ending song to the DN anime. I have never given a good name or title to anything, so instead I borrowed the line. If I think of something later I'll change the title, because I really don't like quoting a song(no matter how great it is...) to title my story.

The end of this fanfic? When the story corresponds to volume 7? I suppose so. Although, depending on where my imagination takes me, the story could very well veer off into another direction. I keep telling myself it's a fanfic and doesn't have to follow the story but...who knows...

I'll try and update as regularly as possible. Not as frequently as possible. But as regularly. That's a lot to ask for from me; my muse, my imagination, and my creativity are all very fickle beings.

I promise I won't talk this much every chapter...


	2. Sweet Home

**Author's Note:** Crapshoot. I remembered I lent a friend my Death Note manga volumes 3-5, so I'm a little screwed. Having planned to use the manga as a guideline, I'm a little lost until I get them back, which could be a while, since me and this friend don't, unfortunately, see each other very often. Chapter 2 and I'm already doing a filler...

**Chapter 2: Sweet Home**

Interaction with many people always made L feel somewhat weary. Most of his contact with people was limited to computer screens and telephones of course. In many cases he had been in contact with over 100 people at once, gatherings of authorities or leaders; but that had only been, of course, impersonal electronic communication. Surrounded by five new people was surprisingly tiring.

Quickly, L had adjusted to the shift, as much as his mind calculated he should. He only needed to align himself with just the right magnitude of sociability to handle them. Being that it was only required on a professional level, it could remain at a relatively low level. Therefore, he could have them pile their turned off cell phones on a table located on the opposite side of the room, and leave his safely on and in his pocket, with no qualms about the rudeness.

They were men he could trust, he had seen to that. But few, and he had of course gone through the trouble of procuring fake IDs and belts with transmitters. He had to make sure no one died; very few people remained under him, and there was a need to secure their well being. Should the already single-digit number dwindle to zero, he'd be on his own again, and against Kira, it would be, he approximated, about 73 percent, no, 84 percent, more difficult. More hands, more eyes, and legs to go where he could not...

"_We will place secret cameras and hidden devices."_

Expectantly enough, a bombshell. Protests, shouts, yelling, shocked features and a cold sweat visible from worried father Soichiro Yagami. Resisting a sigh, he had watched the predictable maneuver unfolded, Matsuda and Aizawa quickly moving to defend him, trying to enlighten him to the consequences, as if they could awaken him to what it meant to have such devices in his own house.

Mr. Yagami had of course been upset, and to himself L reprimanded the Chief's subordinates; of course Soichiro Yagami knew what it meant. Reminding him in vocal form only worsened the situation, didn't they see that? Honestly, this was partially the reason he kept people away from the beginning. It was troublesome. And not everyone was able to maintain their judgement as unaffected by emotions as he was.

In all truth, L understood quite well, on a logical level, why a man would be unsettled by the prospect of having cameras and hidden bugs in his own home. It was a complete invasion of privacy, and of course the honest, honorable chief feared for his wife and his daughter most, whom would be relentlessly recorded without even their knowledge.

And yet, in another plane of thought, he could argue this to himself. It would only be him and the fellow task force members; no one else was allowed to view or hear the recordings, and only if an interesting find was there a need for the others to see. Unless such a discovery was made, it was exclusively his responsibility. So what did he really have to worry about?

Not that, again, he could forsake the discomfort it obviously meant for Mr. Yagami. Although even his age was hidden data, he had just turned 24, and no man would want a strange man in his mid-twenties staring at his family, much less his own wife and his young daughter. Of course the son, Light Yagami, would be spied on as well; in fact, he intended to pay the most attention. If Kira was indeed among the families Raye Penber had been following, Light Yagami was the clear candidate. But he could not ignore any possibility, no matter how off base it might seem, or in all truth be. It was his responsibility, and he had seen his fair share of events nothing short of wonders, cases where proper, socially 'upright' people were guilty of the most heinous crimes imaginable.

At the moment, he gazed at the screen with Sayu Yagami. She appeared to be doing her homework, sitting at the desk with a textbook and notebook. Several times per minute she gazed at the clock above her desk, sighed, shook her head to regain concentration. Afterwards, she'd flip through a consistent number of pages, presumably the number she was required to read.

After several moments, she scribbled something on her paper. L watched closely. Nothing out of the ordinary with her. Six minutes later, she closed the textbook, slipped it into the drawer beside her desk, and rose from her chair.

Wondering what she was doing, but not particularly interested, he watched as the middle school student slipped from her room, stepped lightly and swiftly, a very feminine way of walking, he noted her steps focused on the front of her feet, down the hall to her brother's room.

Not paying attention to the conversation that ensued, L watched, feeling a slight inkling of amusement as she returned to her room, half-dragging her half-reluctant brother by the wrist.

Light Yagami, L had observed, had been doing his own homework, while systematically nibbling on a light sandwich of cucumber and some other vegetable, from its plastic wrapping. Obviously some affair from a nearby convenience store. Nothing suspicious.

Somehow he had been roped into helping his sister, which over the past few days L noticed to be a frequent happening. Not that Sayu appeared to be of below-average intelligence, but she simply seemed to have a lack of concentration. Maybe he should alert Mr. Yagami to this. Or perhaps he should simply stay out of it like a good spy.

He balanced the pros and cons of this in his mind. Nonetheless, he watched intently as Light gave into his younger sister's demands and commended tutoring her with whatever subject she was having difficulty concentrating on.

Yes, staying completely out of it was ideal. Although it might have in the future aided Sayu's mental development, he had no concern for her expanding beyond the normal compassion for another human. He noted that indeed, his compassion peaked with an innocent young girl, as would occur with most. He could feel himself empathizing with Light; of course a person would give into a younger sibling, and more likely a sister. How could he turn her down?

But it wasn't his responsibility. Simply put, it was none of his business how dependent a girl became on her brother.

Now that he thought about it further, L tilted his head slightly to the left, and bit the nail of his thumb. Sayu always focused fine should Light be with her to keep her on track. Maybe it was as simple as her over-reliability on him. Perhaps Light realized she was becoming more dependent on his presence, maybe not, but either way he seemed to be a fine brother. For Sayu, anyway; he, fairly quickly gave into her demands for tutoring.

Useless. Nothing of interest was going on here. Briefly, his empty, dark eyes turned to Sachiko Yagami, who was busy preparing dinner in the kitchen. Also useless.

It was this sort of thing that bored him so relentlessly about people. Just by watching a person, their entire surfaced being could be dissected in a matter of hours or days. And by watching a younger person, a fairly reliable prediction could be made about the type of person they'd become. Sayu was no unfortunate case; she was of average intelligence, she had friends(he could deduce this from the hours she spent on the phone), she had the makings of what would become a very pretty young woman. Yet she'd remain dependent and irresponsible until Light left the house; upon his exiting, she'd surely mature fairly quickly. She seemed the type.

This family was clean. Ridiculously so. Positively innocent, and suspiciously peaceful.

He flexed his toes, buffered by the seat cushion underneath. Having settled in an armchair, with a vintage, antique floral design almost two hours ago, he had watched the family for that long. Both Light and Sayu Yagami had come home at roughly the same time, the older brother appearing in the doorway thirteen minutes after his sister.

Mentally reviewing the rough schedule Soichiro Yagami had provided him with, L concluded quickly Light did not have cram school tonight, but Sayu did. After dinner she'd be going, and several hours later Light would be most likely kicked out the front door by their mother to safely retrieve her from the school. According to their mother, whom reminded her bored son every time, that a junior high school girl should not be left traveling alone so late at night. Her barely-listening first born would agree with her as he quickly pulled on his jacket and shoes, and promptly left, possibly a mechanism to avoid hearing the same speech over and over when he already given no complaint to being sent in the first place.

So homely, so innocent, it was almost a sitcom. A glance at this proper family would give most people the impression that Kira could not possibly lurk here. And yet, L knew better, and he had learned both the easy way and the hard way, that a criminal could be anywhere. Evidence gathered so far pointed to a 5 percent that Kira was among one of these families.

The door to the room opened and the footsteps were unfamiliar. It made him slightly uneasy, and the grip on his knee instinctively tightened. He wasn't used to the NPA members coming in and out, even when he knew they were nearby working.

Suddenly, he heard the clinking of a plate on the glossed surface of the table in front of him, and without moving or tipping his head down, his eyes shifted down, then to the side. First he saw a simple, white porcelain plate, one typical of almost a corner diner, with a packaged piece of melon bread and another of a sweet roll, then Matsuda standing over him to his right.

As lighthearted as Matsuda's face naturally was, today he seemed particularly as if he was holding back a chuckle. L stared at the young man's face for a moment. As far as he knew, Matsuda was only a year older than him, but seemed so much younger. He felt sometimes as if he were talking to a little brother.

A moment went by, and L's stare did not falter and Matsuda's smile refused to diminish(For some reason this sparked an inkling of annoyance.). Finally L's lips moved, he kept his voice quiet.

"What's this for?"

"If...if you were hungry..." A corner of Matsuda's mouth pulled up, suddenly sheepish. A well-meaning young man, albeit a bit...silly. Unpredictable, and yet when asked to explain his actions, he usually wore one or another expression of shamefacedness. Like asking a mischievous child why he had stuck his fingers in the ice cream. So far, L counted three distinct faces of embarrassment.

Staring at him for almost a full minute, a thick silence pervaded between them, and L could clearly see the signs of growing discomfort in Matsuda's face.

_Any second now,_ L thought, _he'll ask. He'll say something to fill the silence._

As always, he was right.

"W...um...was that...wrong?"

Like a child, all right. Matsuda shifted uncomfortably, and tried another smile, this time the opposite side of his lip curling to a cheerful, docile smile.

Not wrong. Simply odd, unexpected.

L finally took his eyes off the peculiar specimen, and reached over, his index and thumb securing the crinkling plastic between them and raising the package of melon bread to the air above him, inspecting it as if it were something new, before he brought it to himself and pulled it open between his hands, or rather, his fingers of both hands.

"Matsuda."

"Y-yes?"

"Bring me some coffee, please."

"...Alright..."

Out of the corner of his eye, L watched Matsuda scamper out with a dejected step. What was he trying to do with this, anyway?

Considering the possibilities, L carefully separated a piece of the melon bread into his winters, and nibbled it partway before pulling the rest of the bite into his mouth with his rather long tongue. Matsuda was well-intentioned, he knew; he simply didn't quite have the talent of investigation the others did. Perhaps it was just the lack of experience. Yet he was eager to do something useful and gain attention; yes, a child who wanted to be paid attention to. He might prove troublesome in the future.

Or maybe he was simply giving this too much thought. Matsuda wasn't too vital to the investigation. Lack of experience. No particular talent distinguishing him from any other young police officer dreaming of one day becoming chief. If Matsuda even wanted to be in such a position. He didn't know, he didn't care, he wouldn't ask.

But he was unpredictable, and his generally childish behavior might prove to be a hinderance to the case. The unpredictability, more than the simplemindedness made him weary. There was very little use in having a somewhat rebellious subordinate under him. Still, he needed all the help he could get.

Several minutes later, Matsuda returned with coffee for them both, sipping his own as he placed the cup down on top of the table beside the plate of sweets. He didn't linger, swiftly exiting without another word.

L had watched the movement with careful, perceptive eyes, still busy with the half-eaten melon bread in his hands.

Once Matsuda was gone, L surrendered pulling off individual pieces of the bread, and instead bit the rest of the roll in his mouth, lips pulled back only slightly, his teeth exposed, and reached for his coffee; he balanced it carefully on the arm of his chair before resuming his consumption of the sweet bread.

Then his attention was securely back on the screens displaying the Yagami family, although in truth his attention had never fully faltered. On second thought, had Matsuda even realized what L had been doing? Didn't he notice he was busy?

Stupid Matsuda. He was already proving to be a pest. If only he were 6, 7 years older with the police experience he would have gained in that time. Perhaps some of his childlike nature would have been subdued by then.

On the screen, Light Yagami was currently on his way out the door, his mother behind him reminding how dangerous it was for girls to travel the streets alone in the evening, and Sayu wasn't very strong. Apparently Light was a patient person, dealing with both repetitive lectures from his mother and daily badgering from his sister.

Done with the melon bread, L carefully folded the plastic wrapper, placed it on the very center of the plate, and after a few sips of coffee he left black, reached for the sweet roll.

**Sweet Home End**

**Ending Notes:** I need back my volumes...

A filler, but not as bad as I thought. If I'm in the mood to write, I take advantage of it, no matter what comes out. It wasn't up to the caliber of the last chapter, and was a little light of substance, but I think it had its moments. There are subtleties to it, at the very least...(?) I don't know, I don't know, who knows...

Originally, I was thinking of having Soichiro come instead of Matsuda, but being that I adore Matsuda and he's usually disregarded, I decided he needs some love.

My vocabulary isn't what it should be. My apologies.

It's moving slowly, isn't it? It'd be faster...if I had my manga...but it's not exactly about 'action' either. I'm afraid it'll get boring. I'll try harder...


	3. You May Be My Enemy

**Author's Note:** Still haven't gotten back my volumes..

('Raito' or 'Light'?)

**Chapter 3: You May Be My Enemy**

Although it was only the beginning of the spring and summer seasons, the April day had granted an unusually warm climate. It had inspired many people to venture outside, the masses eager for the more comfortable weather after a particularly drawn out and harsh winter.

Two people on their way to the tennis court wasn't anything abnormal. A normal, everyday occurrence, and no one had taken any notice until someone recognized the distinguished pair engaged in an increasingly fierce match.

The conclusion brought him his first defeat in anything in years, and the panting 'Ryuga' shuffled over to the net, a halfway boundary marker between himself and secretly his suspect. Leaning over only slightly from his already arched back, his long arm extended to grasp the innocent yellow tennis ball between his fingertips.

He became aware Light had already closed the distance between his former position and himself, on the other side of the net.

Glancing up, his eyes unmoving as he rose, he could feel a drop of sweat trickle from his temple down the side of his face. "Impressive game."

A good-natured smile, and Light agreed, "It really was. It's been a long time since I played. You're very good."

Tilting his head only slightly, Ryuga started a walk down the length of the net, and Light followed him on the other side. Only now noticing the fuss outside the fences, L felt himself unnerved and slightly annoyed by the sheer number of bystanders, cheering them on, excited by the game.

"I hadn't realized we'd drawn such a crowd." Not completely sure if he was talking to himself or Light, he stuck his fingers in his front pockets, thumbs sticking out, the left one wrapped securely around the racket, and it hugged against his leg.

"Actually, I hadn't either." Light took a quick look around, striding as properly as one would expect from him.

Gratefully enough, the crowd had enough sense not to follow them into the locker rooms, and L was at the very least, glad to be out from under the stares of the viewers.

While Light opened his assigned locker and arranged his belongings, Ryuga located a paper towel near the sinks and, holding it carefully with his fingertips, began to brush at the misting of sweat on his face. Wordlessly, he dabbed at the droplets on the back of his neck, and was slightly disappointed to find his hair as damp because of it. He'd taken a shower this morning and honestly wasn't looking forward to needing another one.

"Hey, Ryuga?"

Turning around, he found that Light had already changed, and was just putting the racket back into his locker. "Yes?"

His mouth opened to say something, but Light hesitated, and an expression of curiosity came over his features, and instead switched his question to, "Isn't that difficult, to wipe your face using only your fingertips?"

"Somewhat."

Another moment, pondering to himself, and Light let it drop. If Ryuga did things in a particular way, as he proved in many ways, and was already a trademark of his, then that was his business. "Would you be interested in going somewhere for refreshments? Something to drink, coffee maybe?"

L discarded the used paper towel neatly in the garbage. A very polite request, he acknowledged. Light Yagami was his prime suspect, and having come to a university he didn't need to attend simply to make himself an acquaintance of the college freshman, he couldn't refuse such an invitation. No, on the other hand, he was lucky he hardly had to make a move at all. Light was coming to _him_.

So he nodded softly, offering only the slightest of smiles. It was only a _little_ bit of a false one.

Only 23 minutes later, the two of them stepped from the warm outside to the chilled interior of a well-kept coffee shop. Hazel-colored wood panels graced the floors and part of the way up the walls. The plants between booths and along some of the walls, L noted, were real, and he followed Light to a table near the back of the establishment.

Tiny little clicks that were inaudible outside became apparent inside the coffee shop; L had no appreciation for shoes, such a dislike as to encourage him even further from adventuring outside where he'd have no choice but to wear them, and left his shoelaces untied. The looser the better. Consequently, a rythmic clatter of the plastic ends onto the hard wood floor did already garner some attention from those the pair passed by.

Sliding into the bench across from Light, L's nimble fingertips pulled at the laces even more from the eyelets. He could feel his frustration rising; shoes and socks were avoided for a reason. He pulled the tongue of the sneaker up. Uncomfortable and inconvenient, and for him almost never needed, which is why the white running shoes he wore now looked barely used; simply, they were. Of course, he'd experimented with a number of ways to remedy this. Sandals were inconvenient; the straps could prove to be even more of a nuisance than a sneaker, and flip flops fell off quite easily, even while he was walking. Even having tried shoes that were too large was annoying; they made him clumsy.

Effectively forgetting he was even in the company of another, he stared dismally at his sneakers, close to his face, being that he'd instinctively sat in the position most familiar to his body upon sitting. For several minutes he stayed this way, and on the other side of the table, Light had already told the responsible waitress twice they needed a few more minutes to decide their order.

Nibbling softly on his fingernail, he continued to stay this way, in his own thoughts. As seconds wore on, he forgot just a little bit more that he was with another person, though ironically his mind was very focused on the Kira case, and how best to go about extracting clues from Light.

For the average person, it would have gotten to be awkward in less than a minute, and eventually, Light spoke up. "Ryuga?"

Refusing to move, his eyes turned upward, and fixed their blank force on the freshman college student. Yet in another two seconds he decided he should begin his probing. "This is a nice place."

"It is," Light's smile was polite, perhaps even a touch friendly. "I like to come here; it's private, and no one will bother you, or stare at you, about the way you sit."

For a split second L considered asking why it was really that abnormal. The bodies of human beings were flexible and versatile. This position in which he sat was not so much an abnormality of a human being as it was a societal irregularity. He brushed it off, and instead desired to stay focused.

The waitress returned, and each ordered coffee. When it arrived, L quickly set to sweetening the beverage to his own taste. Light watched in puzzlement as one sugar packet after another was emptied into the dark liquid. The wrappers piled up to an impressive heap on a spot on the table, and the coffee was less and less becoming so, and somewhere along the way was becoming more sugar.

The cup, Light noted, was actually running out of space, whereupon L's discovery, he sipped a fair amount out, careful to exclude the settled sugar. Yet he wasn't finished, and recommenced pouring more sugar into it once he made some space. Another 4 packets later, and as Light thought he might have been done, he instead picked up the little tin pitcher of cream and poured enough to fill the cup to the brim with what was safely by now composed mainly of melted sugar.

Having watched in confusion and somewhat fascination, Light suddenly decided he'd take his coffee black this time, and abandoned the sugar packet he was holding onto the table. Ceremoniously, L took it up in his fingers and emptied the contents into his cup as well.

One hand stirred the thick concoction with a spoon, almost by its own accord, while L turned to the duffle bag he'd brought with him, and his eyes scanned the wide container for a second before selecting several envelopes.

It was time to begin his investigating on suspect Light Yagami. The same hand slid the envelopes across the table to Light, while his right hand picked up the coffee cup, and slurped quietly. Their waitress walked by, and frowned upon the stack of empty sugar packets, and hesitated to see if their guests had childishly wasted all of them, until she spotted the thick brew of Ryuga's cup, and she quickly stepped away, with a peculiar story to later relay to whomever she talked to later.

L slowly licked his lip from the glaze of sweetness that had settled there from his drink, eyes gazing over the rim as Light scanned the papers. Surely he'd find out what his suspect was made of.

--

Their conversation had been abruptly halted due to an almost simultaneous ringing of their cell phones. Now they were in the hospital, visiting Soichiro Yagami.

The sheets, floors, and ceiling were white, a typical hospital. Even the walls were painted white, however halfway to the ceiling they switched to a pale pattern of leaves and flowers. Every so often a framed picture was placed somewhat clumsily on the wall, soothing images of beaches, palm trees, landscapes. Vaguely L wondered why there were never any pictures of people.

He stared at his wriggling toes, glad to be rid of the shoes for at least a while, then over to the bed where Soichiro Yagami lay exhausted. His faithful wife and his dutiful son were beside him.

This was, L realized, the first time he had ever been in a hospital. He brought his thumb to his lips, and his teeth gnawed softly at his fingertip. As he watched the family, he wondered for only a fleeting moment where Sayu was.

The square white bandages held needles and monitoring wires firmly in place in various spots all over the aging man's body, and his worried family circled around him. The white dressings made Mr. Yagami a part of the hospital; he was claimed by it. Until the white was pulled off him, he belonged to this place.

Although he could see the instinct to worry over a family member, L wondered why his family was indeed so unsettled. Mr. Yagami was exhausted, but far from death. The 'heart attack' had been a false alarm, and moreover, he was in safe hands, being monitored and treated. Why would they be so persistent in remaining fearful? This was something out of a TV drama, which it certainly wasn't. They were being almost a tad foolish.

Yet he waited. He wasn't so sure why he continued to stay here. He wasn't part of Soichiro's family, he was what could be called his boss. True, he felt fortunate he hadn't lost what seemed to be an extremely valuable member of the Task Force, but he was still at a loss for a reason why he'd stay here now that he knew he was alright.

The young detective calmly searched his mind for a substantial reason. Perhaps it was simply sentimentality? It didn't quite fit. Although he did feel the presence of a connection with Mr. Yagami since he had met him before, there was nothing 'sentimental' between himself or any of the task force members.

Regardless. He felt a small pull from somewhere inside him. It was intriguing, and yet unsettling. This would require further thought later.

+-+

"You already know I suspect you of being Kira."

Anyone would know that it was an entirely inappropriate thing to say when walking out of a hospital with a boy whose father was in one of the rooms. But L didn't care. Or he did, but only enough to keep his voice down so no one would hear.

Clearly it had irked Light, and he promptly sent Ryuga an unpleasant look. "My father is in the hospital because of Kira. Why would I drive my own father to this?"

"Accidents happen." L answered, "No one could have foreseen this, although they could predict it, based on how much effort and time your father has put into this case. Even if you are Kira, you couldn't prevent his becoming ill."

"Drop this! I'm not Kira." Light demanded, his voice stronger. "If anything, I want to catch Kira _more_ because of this. For driving my father to this point."

"I see." Was a simple response, but L had looked away in the middle of Light's sentence. In truth, he had ceased listening so carefully, and wasn't completely sure of what he'd responded to. It didn't matter; surely all Light-kun was doing was denying his being Kira.

Clearly Light had noticed L wasn't listening and he felt some frustration rise.

Grabbing the collar of the other's shirt, Light carefully yanked him over, in a much more forceful way than an onlooker would have suspected, to a quiet corner of the hallway.

"Listen to me," He hissed under his breath. "Your suspicion of me has my father even more upset. Why say such a thing?! You'll only discourage his health like that."

Light and L were within an inch of the same height, and so as Light tried to convince him, Ryuga stared with vacant eyes; they were masked, but not unseeing. He searched Light's face, for any trace of lies, deceit. Any trace at all...

--

As they stepped outside, he spotted the car Ryuga had left the entrance ceremony in days earlier. The driver, an older gentleman, opened the door for L as he prepared to step inside.

"Ryuga," Light's tone had become sharp, and the crouched young man turned to look at him. "Do you really think I'm Kira?"

"Who knows," L teased his bottom lip with his thumb a moment before he dropped his hand and slipped it into his pocket. "You could be. At present, you are the prime suspect."

"Ryuga," Trying again, Light replied even more harshly, "I'll do anything to prove I'm not Kira. I will. I'll show you I'm not Kira!"

Light Yagami was becoming impatient, L noticed. So even the exceptional prodigy had a temper. "It will prove itself as time goes on."

"But there has to be something I can do," Light continued to press, "Think about it. Imagine for a moment, what it would be like to be suspected of being Kira."

For a moment, L heeded Light's request, glancing away to focus, and his active imagination worked on the scenario. Several seconds passed before he did feel an impact upon him, and he responded, eyes turning back to the young student. "That feels terrible."

As he heard the car door shut beside him under Watari's hand, and felt the slight wind it produced tickle his hair, he rolled down the window to gaze outside at Light, still waiting.

"Light," He repeated calmly, "If you are indeed not Kira, I will sooner or later make certain of it."

Obviously such an answer did not satisfy his companion from that afternoon, and he didn't fully care. But almost on impulse, he spoke softly, "Light-kun. Let's play tennis again soon. Perhaps next Wednesday?"

Maybe it had startled Light somewhat, and he blinked a few times as apparently any frustration the boy had somewhat melted. "S...sure. Sometime soon."

A soft smile from L, and his finger reached for the control button for the window. "I look forward to that."

With that, he closed the window, and the car took off from the curb.

So it had been an impulse of his. It mattered very little. An action that had indeed somewhat confused him, and he again was forced to wonder why he would do such a thing. Instinctively, he again chewed his finger, this time the middle knuckle of his index finger the victim. He supposed, at the very least, it might have relieved some ill feelings directed towards him from Light. And it was another chance to get closer to Light, find out more.

Staring out the window, the shoes long discarded on the floor of the car, L found himself looking forward to next Wednesday. Why so, he failed to clarify.

**(You May Be My Enemy) End**

**Ending Notes:** L is actually very rude, isn't he? He'll learn...

By the way L. It's called compassion. That's why you cared. You like some people.

Light's crazy. We know. But he's important, to the story and to L, in a sense, being his "first ever friend". This isn't going to turn into a LxLight yaoi fanfiction. Not because I have anything against it, but I want to keep the story palatable to all readers. Here, their relationship is strictly friendship. Just because this is an L centric story doesn't mean he's the only important person..

Some may have noticed; I'm using the "Volume 13: How to Read" for guidance. It's actually very useful, from knowing they had their tennis match in April to Matsuda being a year older than L, whose now 24 at this point in the story. :

In the end, I decided on "Light" or "Light-kun" instead of "Raito". I already started with the Westernization of names, like "Mr. Yagami", so I might as well stay consistant.


	4. Sorry, I don't Understand

**Author's Note:** I've tried to not complain about the lack of reviews...it's a little irritating nonetheless. I'd rather, of course, get a few good reviews(or...great ones. Thank you for those who have :) ), than a slew of bad ones...and actually, as I familiarize myself with FFN again, people really aren't reviewing like they used to, but...I'll ask anyway. Please review; I'm trying my best.

L: Asking for reviews is pointless. It doesn't help, or encourage people.

(Good point.)

Not to spoil anything, but don't worry; no pairings.

**Chapter 4: Sorry, I don't Understand**

"Ryuga...kun?"

Comparative to the streak of warmth for almost two weeks straight, the past few days had dropped to somewhat cold temperatures. Despite the chilly air, the sun was strong today.

At present L was sitting, crouched as always, on a bench, under a tree and out of the sun. His shoes were discarded on the ground before him, having been dropped like a bag of rocks from his fingertips minutes before. Bare feet half covered by denim and toes occasionally flexing out of habit as his private thoughts progressed.

Somehow the bench he sat on always remained void of anyone else, no matter how many people were around. But he was waiting for Light-kun, his bag beside him, the conspicuous handle of a tennis racket protruding from a carelessly closed zipper.

His eyes only moved up towards the person who addressed him, and recognized her as a fellow classmate, Noizi Ito. For a moment he watched her. She had addressed him, so for a few seconds he waited for her to speak again, until it occurred to him she was waiting for him to speak.

"Yes?"

A fairly shy girl, small and petite, not possibly taller than 5'4'', with large and soft brown eyes, and black hair that fell delicately past her shoulders. She looked awkward, yet bore a small, embarrassed smile, her school bag hanging from one shoulder, and her arms folded across her chest, protectively around a white paper bag.

"Are you...here...for somebody?"

Tilting his head a little, curious, he answered, "For Light-kun."

"I see." Her feet shuffled a little. Biting her lower lip, she lowered her eyes shyly, and apparently she realized her bad habit had taken up again, and quickly released her lip from her teeth. "And...no one else? Only Light-kun?"

"No."

One of those girls who blended in with the wallpaper, she was known to be unbearably timid, to which reputation she was fleshing out before L's very eyes.

A few long moments passed, and she swallowed hard, and began to speak, but it came out a whisper. After a flush, and a deep sigh, she tried again, "May I sit?"

Perplexed, L answered, "You don't need my permission."

Shy smiles seemed to be Ito-san's speciality, and she sat almost two full feet away from him, knees together and shoulders hunched. Very timid, indeed.

"Have you...picked a major yet?"

Having avoided looking at her, he was forced to interact, to his slight wariness. Now he faced her, turning only his head. "I haven't."

"Do you have any idea what you might choose?" Was the next question, her courage rising. Although she refused to let on, her mind raced for more small talk to bring up. No matter what, she had to continue a conversation.

"I don't intend to."

Blinking, she fidgeted a little, glanced up at the tree above them, searched for and found more nerve. "I see. I'm not certain, but I may choose literature."

"Hm. Interesting." Where he hadn't the slightest interest before, he was now at least a little curious, now that she was speaking at a normal volume. For some reason, she was trying very hard to talk to him, and perhaps he might have recognized why had he thought back to TV dramas he had gained an affinity for a few months prior to the rise of Kira.

Another few minutes past, 147 seconds that seemed very long to Noizi Ito, and very short to 'Ryuga', interested only in his own thoughts and wondering vaguely where Light-kun was. He was in danger of being late very soon.

"Um..."

He turned to look at her, and the crinkling of a paper bag became suddenly and increasingly audible, so as he turned his face, he instead found the white paper bag she had held in her lap while sitting inches from his face, the girl sitting nearby completely invisible to him at the moment.

Even more puzzled, the fingers on his right knee flexed as a reaction. "What's this?"

Her face brimmed with a scarlet blush, and quietly she murmured, "I asked around, and people said you like sweets a lot."

As if he hadn't been confused before...yet, he took the rolled top of the paper bag between his fingers, and laid it carefully on the seat of the bench before he pried it open to peer inside. There were a few various sweets inside, nothing expensive, but quite tempting to the eye of a person with an enthusiasm for desserts.

As he examined them with thoughtful eyes, she continued, in a hurried, nervous tone, her voice wavering every so often, "I didn't know what you liked...the people I asked said you ate a lot of different sweet foods. So I just picked out a lot of them, if you don't like some of them, that's alright..."

His eyes moved back up to her, as always his face blank. "What's this for? I don't understand."

Did he imagine it, or did she positively jump as if someone had struck her? Quickly her eyes adverted away, to the treetop again, he noticed, and her small, pale hand played with some hair that had fallen over her shoulder. Was it really such an event to answer a simple question?

"Oh. Well..." She began, and trailed off. For a moment she seemed to gather her courage. The fist in her lap clenched, and it didn't escape L's observant eyes, but his attention was again caught when her face was turned to face him directly.

"It's just that..." With bravery, she attempted to look into his eyes, and it backfired, her nerve again cut loose from her. It took her two more tries before she was able to steadily keep her eyes fixated to his face. "Well...I saw you at the opening ceremony...and we have two classes together...so...I know you. Even if it hasn't been long."

Well obviously she knew him...L simply listened. If she was going to explain, he wasn't required to think about it for himself.

"And..." She continued, struggling more so with her next words, "I've watched you...you're interesting."

This was going slower than L would have liked. It sounded like she was building up to something, and yet she was taking an awfully long time getting to it.

"It's...well. You see..." Trying her best, even L could recognize that, Noizi took a very deep, slow breath, and opened her mouth, her eyes sincere. "I wanted to tell you."

Only a little fascinated, having never spoken so long to a woman one-on-one before, L cocked his head a little, waiting patiently. "Tell me?"

"That..." She looked up, and like a gunshot had went off behind her she was on her feet. In a flash she had gathered her things and was quickly fleeing, taking only the time to bow politely and say, "It was nice talking with you, but, I have to go now...bye."

Watching her vigilant and swift, yet feminine footsteps as she hurried away, L could only feel complete bafflement overtake him. What had that all been about? Right when it had seemed as if she might have had the strength to tell him whatever it had been that she wanted to say...what just drove her off?

"Ryuga," Light smiled. "Always the same bench, huh?"

"Light-kun," L stood, reluctantly pulling on his dreaded shoes, "You're almost 6 minutes late."

"I know...sorry." Light peered down the path for a moment. "Was that Ito-san?"

L nodded, and upon this reminder, his fingertips clasped onto the top of the white paper bag she had left him.

"What did she want?" Light asked, "I didn't know you two were friendly."

"Honestly," L took another peek inside the bag, slightly monotonous voice without emotion. "I didn't either."

What L didn't understand, Light did, and a slight smirk overcame his lips. "Did she give that bag to you?"

"She did..." L pulled out a rather alluring wrapped cake, from a bakery, no doubt. Within seconds the plastic top of the container was flipped open, and after setting it down on the bench beside him, he took a bite from the front.

"Are you sure you want to eat that before playing tennis?" Light blinked, and changed the subject. "Ryuga...why'd she give you that again?"

"Not sure." L told him.

Giving up for the next few minutes on going anywhere, Light sat beside him, waiting for Hideki Ryuga to finish the piece of cake he was apparently enjoying.

"Want some?" L broke the silence after a moment. "She gave me a lot."

Light laughed softly. "No. That's all meant for you, not me."

"She won't find out." L answered.

A shake of the head, and Light responded, "No. Really...that's for you, and only you."

"How do you mean? Why so stubborn about it?" L replied, answering with a question. "It doesn't matter all that much."

"It's special." Light smiled. "Thanks, but don't try to offer it to me again. That'll sting if she finds out."

"How would she find out?" L asked. "Rather considerate of her to give me something like this, since we've never spoken before...according to Ito-san, she asked around and was told I liked these foods."

Instead of a normal reply, L was greeted by Light's lighthearted laughter, lasting for almost, to L's calculations, almost 13 seconds. When finished, he only heard, "How do you not understand?"

"Understand? No, I don't. Sounds like a lot of effort on her part. Maybe she needed help with a class or something."

"You really don't know your way around women."

"No, I don't." L admitted openly. "And you do?"

"Much better than you." Light answered. "Put the pieces together. If you're really L, you can surely figure this out."

While this conversation had transpired, L had moved on from the demolished cake to a stack of neatly arranged cookies in a decorative tin, and wondered for a moment if they were homemade. Selecting the third one in the row, he nibbled on the edge of the sweet delicacy, finding it rather palatable.

Figure it out? Yes, he most likely could.

Overhead, the last of a few stray clouds had withered away. Instead, the sky was an impressive blue. A breeze drifted the branches of the trees; the gaps between the leaves created random figures of light, playing across everything beneath it, the ground, the bench, the paper bag, the two young men.

A soft breeze, refreshing, but a brief one. Once it settled, L licked the crumbs and stickiness from his fingertips. Patiently, Light waited, and spoke no more about the sweets or Noizi Ito, gazing off, across the open space of the campus.

**Sorry, I don't Understand: End**

**Ending Notes:** I really don't know how I'm coming up with chapter after chapter. But I think the story is finally beginning to move, and soon it will take off on its own...

Light? And lighthearted laughter? Unthinkable. Well. To those around him he seems like a nice guy, so I'm writing him as they outside world sees him.

If anyone recognizes the name **Noizi Ito** off the top of their heads, I'll be very impressed :) Don't go look it up and pretend you knew; I'll give it out the next chapter anyway, so you can be lazy...Like I mentioned before, I'm bad at naming things, so I borrowed the name. But the actual character was pretty much entirely my imagination. She sounds like she'd be really cute...

Speaking of Noizi. No worries. This isn't becoming an LxOC fic. She has a crush on him, obviously. She was created as a bit of a throwaway, though I actually like her. She's really there just to teach L a life lesson. Chances are around 99.9 percent her 'love life' concerning him will end unhappily. Actually, I'm sure this will happen. So please cheer for her anyway, because she's being brave, trying, and doing what millions of fangirls want to!


	5. Relentless Rain: Stay Safe

**Author's Note:** Come now, people. Review. Not just mine...everywhere. The more I look around FFN, the more I shake my head...even great fanfics are getting barely any reviews.

-sigh- It used to be when I posted a chapter I had 10 new reviews by the next day...does the reminiscing make me an old-timer?

**Noizi Ito** is a character designer for anime and manga. I discovered this by accident. But she was the character designer for _Shakugan no Shana_ and _The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya._ I hadn't realized it, but when I took another look at the styles...

**Chapter 5: Relentless Rain; Stay Safe**

Somewhere, a clock struck midnight. Perhaps a church, maybe a landmark worthy of frequent tourist visits; but what were surely majestic bells boomed. The sweet roar they emanated sang out over rooftops and bridges, rivers and the ground.

The knells were dulled, their powerful cries softened by the sheets of rain being thrown all over the city. By no means was this a quiet rain; pounding everything underneath it, softening the ground and arousing fears of blackouts, and somewhere a small television buzzed the worry of a possible flooding.

Standing before the window, L stared out the glass. A summer rain, a thick condensation formed on the glass from the warm water. Mutely, his hand wiped a streak of clarity in the pressing fog, and his empty eyes marveled at the ferocity of the storm.

Eleven o' clock; the bells stuck out 11 chords, exactly. Faintly, L's ears picked up the nostalgic whimper of kind bells, very old to his still young ears; certainly, yes, they could be from a church.

Because of the weather, L had specifically instructed each task force member to be very slow in coming, most of them arriving in traffic by way of a bus or car.

"_Take your time,"_ He remembered repeating the message over the phone to the ear of each detective, _"We're in no hurry to begin our work at precisely 11."_

A quiet moment for L, before he concluded, _"Stay safe."_

After the comment, he had promptly hung up the phone. He'd pause and stare at the phone in his hand. Always searching eyes traced down the straight edge of his cell phone, and landed sooner or later on his pale wrist, his long and bony fingers, and then onto the next member, on speed dial.

Without fail he repeated this exact procedure. He wasn't sure why he said it.

_Stay safe._

They were all grown men, they did not need such advice or an almost-caring sentiment. And his ever-working brain searched and failed to produce sound reasoning.

There wasn't even a particular reason it irked him so. Even an explanation for that eluded him, and it increasingly frustrated him all the more as he thought about it, shuffling back to what he had selected as his favorite chair of this particular hotel room.

Energetic in his irritation, he, somewhat savagely, demolished a large piece of cake with his fork. By the end of his mild, concealed rampage, crumbs of the baked good formed a thick, lumpy layer over the small cake plate. Still feeling vim bubbling within him, he devoured the crumbs with equal vigor, shoveling the crumbled sweet onto the fork before licking it off with an agile tongue.

Insanity was apparently beginning to creep up on him, he felt. Toes squirming on the somewhat coarse fabric cushion underneath him, he then clenched them all at once. Chewing softly on the end of his silver fork, he took several moments to refresh his mind and mentally soothe himself.

Piece by piece, he assembled them in his mind. What was this growing sentimentality behind his actions? Was something as simple as adding on _"stay safe"_ a symbol of a bond between those he was now working with?

Many normal people would not have noticed change in themselves even as it happened. However, L was being stubbornly observant by nature. Tirelessly, his invincible mind dissected everything that had happened to him in the past few weeks. And he recognized that something in him had begun to stir.

This conclusion was somewhat bothersome. Troubling.

Unsettling as it was, he continued to probe further inward, to his mind, determined the reach the root of what he considered problem. His detective mind would not rest until it had deciphered the code of what was it own self.

Eventually he traced it back again to the interaction he had done with others. For a few months he had spoken to them, listened to them. Faced with questions, he answered them; finding confusion in a member, he'd explain as thoroughly as he could. Everything had proceeded normally. Nothing out of what he was used to. Was something so different about seeing people face-to-face?

Predictable; all of them were predictable people. More or less, he could anticipate their actions before they had even conceived them. Anticipating what they would ask, he formulated webs of questions and answers appropriate to them. When they came up as he had foreseen, he had stayed with his plan.

While in his college classes, he had little to do with the people around him. For good measure he had selected most of the classes Light-kun was taking, while attending several different ones, so as to remain inconspicuous. Simple ones he wouldn't have to spend much time on, or ones he had already mastered.

During the classes themselves, he needed very rarely to talk to any of the students surrounding him. He had found that generally, they wanted about as much to do with him as he with them, with the mysterious exception of Noizi Ito. Even the professors had given up; he always had the answers.

Yet he eavesdropped on the conversations simultaneously proceeding as he sat, fingers gripping either his knees, bony under the denim jeans he always wore, or curled around the flat seat of the chair. During a class or taking some time in an outdoors area of the school, such as a bench of steps to one of the campus buildings. Out of boredom perhaps, mixed with his natural curiosity befitting a young child. Without giving proof to his rude, subtle intrusions, he heard as his classmates confided in their friend about problems between them and their girlfriend or boyfriend, fretting about their grades or upcoming tests, complaining about stubborn parents trying to push them into one field of work or another, or even excited about an approaching graduation.

Yes, he did learn about them. Things that would never have concerned him were so profoundly important to normal, young college students.

One day, almost 3 months ago, while sitting on shallow stone steps that lead up to a water fountain behind him, he faintly heard the sound of conversation between a girl and her boyfriend. While he hadn't been paying close attention, he did perceive that some conflict existed between them, and as time went on they seemed to become more and more upset. Suddenly, hysteria broke out behind him, and he turned his head to find the girl, a small brunette with a doll's face, sobbing into her hands. The young man with her sat there silent, looking guilty and yet not moving to console her.

Not quite grasping the situation, L had simply watched as he eventually tried to comfort her into quiet; seemingly he had broken up with her.

Logically, emotion for this man now was only a waste of time for her. Now that he had left her, why should she cry?

He did not understand emotional pain; and how could he have? And yet, he was utterly perplexed, mesmerized as the scene unfolded even more. The man sighed, relieved that she had ceased her audible sobbing, but did not soothe her further, and soon left her; she sat on the steps for some time after that. More wonder at why she didn't leave right away. Instead she tried to collect herself, and for some reason it bothered him.

After several minutes of her obvious pain, he had, somewhat slowly, risen, and made his way over. She had been surprised when he suddenly sat by her, not expecting him, and not knowing him. Before long, though, she seemed somewhat comforted by this stranger's presence.

Now he found himself turning this scene over in his mind again. How had he been any particular comfort to her? What had he done to give that young woman solace? He had said next to nothing; hadn't touched her in comfort, hadn't even pretended to understand or sympathize...

A particularly blast of thunder startled him enough to break his train of thought. His already wide eyes stretched open even more as he witnessed the flashing of an impressive streak of lightening, followed by rumbling, a promise of another clap of thunder soon.

As if in response, the clouds above unleashed even more fury, beating against the window, and once again L cleared the fog from the thick glass with his large, albeit bony, hand.

This change of his...was this a natural progression? Something that expanded his definition of himself as a human being?

He knew very little, he realized, of the impact human beings had on each other. It was true he could witness a passing between people and break it down into a cause and effect, and infer why a particular thing was said and done. This ability was all he had ever needed to survive in his profession, in his position.

Yet, a small place of him was beginning to feel a pull towards the people around him. An invisible string had woven itself into him, and tugged at him. A yearning for more with those around him was slowly beginning to rise in his subconscious, and although he couldn't understand, something he knew as fear was driven up as too.

Fear was also a sensation he knew only as an emotion he could recognize as something he was feeling. No stab of terror had ever pierced him, and no cold sweat had made him stutter and stumble over his words.

The way he understood fear was something unlike anything described to him. Knowing he was scared of something came to him as a thought, and nothing else.

What was so scary about being around people?

He couldn't understand, and as he thought even further, the door creaked open behind him.

Turning, one foot raising to scratch the back of his other calf, he saw Matsuda half-stumble in, just pulling down his umbrella.

"It's really raining out there..." Matsuda sighed, and slid the closed umbrella into the stand near the door of the hotel room. A plastic bag hooked over his elbow crinkled, and he placed it on the table, then stripping off his suit jacket; surely a very warm and very wet night did not make for a comfortable commute.

Silently L watched him, then made his way over to the armchair, and sat in his usual position. Nibbling his finger yet again, he observed as Matsuda looked around and mused, likely to himself, "I guess I was the first to get here today."

"Yes." L didn't care whether or not Matsuda had actually been talking to him or not. He simply felt like answering.

"Well..." Matsuda's hands dove into the dripping plastic bag he had tactlessly put on the glass table, and pulled out a package of melon bread, and three more of a wrapped cake and two donuts, as well as two cups of coffee; things from a convenience store, obviously. He claimed what was likely his own cup of coffee, in a perfectly white Styrofoam cup, placing it on one side of the low table. The other coffee, identical to his own, along with the one of the donuts, the cake, and the melon bread, on an empty plate located on the clear surface. That done, he cheerfully set it down on the other edge of the table, in front of L.

Taking a sip of his coffee, left black, Matsuda smiled and sat down on the couch across from him. "That's for you. I guess we'll wait until everyone else gets here."

L's blank eyes turned to Matsuda, undecipherable as ever, black circles focused on the young detective. There they stayed, and gradually, he watched as the other man slowly became more and more nervous under the penetrating gaze.

Then, slowly he picked up the coffee between his fingers, and balanced it on the arm of his chair, willing to drink it however Matsuda had gotten it for him. Then he picked up the cake and with docile fingertips, pulled the wrapping off. After a lick to the icing, he looked towards Matsuda again. A small smile pulled at the corners of his lips, and his eyes brightened with a pleased glaze. He ignored the sound of a sudden slap of water against the window, brought on by a sudden gust of wind.

"Thank you."

(**Relentless Rain; Stay Safe) End**

**+–+–+**

**Ending Notes:** Matsuda and L are being awfully friendly. Those two being 'friends' seems weird, doesn't it? At least L learned enough about social skills to finally say "Thank you" when Matsuda brings him snacks. At least, that was the point. And he also brings more for L than the last time, and something more for himself, so apparently that means something too...


	6. I'll Try Again

**Author's Note: **I'm up to 4 reviews. -sigh- Oh well. Onward we go.

**Chapter 6: I'll Try Again**

A moderately hot day inside a room made for a steaming prison. Nothing felt more as such than a classroom, stifling and filled to the brim with weary college students, lamenting the temporarily broken air conditioner.

The room was only slightly short of being an auditorium, one of those nostalgically giant college classrooms with upward-soaring rows of long, hard, wooden benches. All of the pupils, totaling about sixty, faced downward, at the middle aged professor, ardently discussing Russian literature. The alumni were busy taking notes, flipping through the mandatory giant book of compiled stories and poems. Unsuccessfully, they attempted to forget the slowly, thickly waving heat.

Idly, the independent fingers of L's right hand flipped th pages of his book. It rested flat on the table, its once sturdy spine beaten into submission, but not by wear and tear; L had intentionally slapped the book by the spine over and over on the table. He spoke his impressively clever theories while the task force members had frowned and fidgeted, barely able to keep focused on his speeches beyond what he was doing to a perfectly intact, and quite new, book for seemingly no reason. Again and again, he slapped the book with a loud thud on the sturdiest piece of furniture of the hotel room, until the spine was satisfactorily flexible.

This wasn't a result of a childish distaste for books or literature. Simply, he was able to lay it on the table without the new book snapping shut in his face. He could hold it by the edge as he often did by habit, and it wouldn't stubbornly keep closing on him.

Thus, he peered with wide eyes at the text. His toes curled around the edge of the bench, irritable at the lack of a cushion to burrow in. A bead of sweat traveled from the back of his head to behind his ear, then slipped behind his neck. Accelerating at the already-damp pieces sticking to his neck, the detective ignored both the slight tickle it provoked, and the heat that caused it, only thinking he should drink some cold tea after this class. Access at the moment was impossible.

Nimble fingers of his left hand slipped into his pocket, and produced a lollipop. The wrapper was torn off piece by piece between his teeth, and ceremoniously arranged in a little pile an inch from the top of the book.

Licking at the hardened red candy, he paid no attention to the stares he was earning by perplexed classmates. He heard a whisper a few seats to the right perhaps, remarking on his unbecoming behavior. Not that he cared; what did surprise him was he heard a tiny voice defending him. Briefly, a back-and-fourth ensued.

"That's why no one sits by him."

"Because he eats in class?" Familiar.

"He's clearly out of his mind." Well, if only that speaker knew.

"How 'clearly'? It's an honest way to act."

"'_Honest'?_"

"If you wanted to eat right now, would you?"

"No, of course not! We're in the middle of class! What's he think he's doing?"

_I think I'm eating._ L cracked the lollipop between durable teeth that by all common sense should have melted out of his head a long time ago. A sizeable chunk came out in his mouth. He sucked on it quietly.

"Hey, you back there,"The professor bellowed in a throaty, deep voice. "Either you quiet down, girls, or you go to another classroom to discuss Pushkin."

Some muttered, embarrassed apologies, some soft snickers and grins, and the room resumed its pace.

A quarter of a minute went by. Then as he heard shuffling, he turned to see someone sitting in the seat next to him.

Ito-san? Had she really been in this class before? He stared at her curiously. She wasn't facing him. Instead her hand played with some hair that had fallen on her shoulder, black wisps curling about her fingers. Her other hand opened the book to a piece of paper she had stuck there as a bookmark. Crossing her legs and sitting straight, she tried to look serious; respectable.

This lasted only for about half a minute. Her cheeks grew redder and redder under his gaze, and finally she uncrossed her legs, relaxed her posture, and looked at him with a sheepish smile.

His eyes continued their set path on the girl's face. He barely missed the whispering going on around them. Although he was in college with semi-adults, the students had taken it upon themselves to set an unwritten law that no one was to sit next to him if they could avoid it. His standoffish behavior, his unnaturally sharp mind that could even shame the professor's on occasion, sharp tongue and blunt words, and his odd habits had constructed somewhat of a barrier around him. And he was of course, fine with this.

But this girl had pushed through. She wasn't out of touch with her peers or the societal ways of her generation; by this, she had taken a risk, and he didn't realize this. She also knew that, and she didn't care.

Several feet away, her friend, with whom she had previously been arguing with, gaped a moment, shook her head, and turned back to the professor.

Not paying attention anymore to the teacher up front, Noizi tilted her head shyly at him, somewhere between a bow and a nod. Her mouth formed a soft smile, a distinguished pull of lips unlike most girls' in college; genuine, tender.

For once, L felt himself curious at the action of another when he had absolutely no need to be. In a soft whisper, he asked, "Why did you move?"

She turned back to the desk in front of her, and on the scrap of paper she previously used as a bookmark, scribbled something, and discreetly slid it to him, under slim, womanly fingers.

With the tip of his middle finger, the rest of his fingers picked up as if shying away from the desk, he pulled it over.

_Because I wanted to. No one else sits by you._

He opened his mouth, but she shook her head, and placed a finger to her lips.

Still the professor droned. An hour into a two-hour lecture, and he began to drift off, enthusiasm sliding. The patience of the students around them was wearing thin.

Perplexed, he reached for her pencil. He never brought a writing utensil. She didn't ask, and slid out a pen from her bag.

Between his thumb and index finger, the pencil tipped back and fourth. It had been a long time since he had properly held a pencil or pen. He didn't need to; all his communicating was done by a computer's keyboard, a speaker, or a phone.

Admittedly childish, he did not want to seem in need of help, or do anything embarrassing. Slowly, he struggled to curl his long fingers. The joints were slightly stiff, from simple lack of use. As he fought to bring his hand into the proper position, he vaguely wondered if he could even write. When was the last time he had even seen his own handwriting?

Certainly years. His lips pursed together, slightly tense, his mouth the only indication. He felt slightly fortunate that he was writing in Japanese; not as many annoying curves of the English alphabet; strokes and lines, that's almost all his unpracticed hand had to manage.

And slowly, he did. His hand trembled a little. Noticing this out of the corner of a tender eye, she took a deep breath, and reached over, placing her hand over his. His hand paused, curious, somewhat startled. Her hand stayed there for several seconds, then removed itself.

Gazing first at her intensely flushing face, her hand, and then his own, he realized it had stopped its shaking. Unknowing why, he slowly began to write. Almost a minute after he began his efforts, only a little hesitant about sharing his awkward handwriting, he slid it back to her.

To herself, she read, _That's hardly a reason to do so; 'because no one else sits' near me. I don't take well to pity._

The poor girl felt her heart skip a beat with worry. She had offended him? As per habit, she bit her lip, and gathered resolve. Taking another deep breath, she wrote frantically, and slowly returned the piece of paper.

Would he even take it? she wondered.

He did. And his dark eyes, as devoid of color as his hair, took in, _It's not pity at all. I also said I wanted to, didn't I?_

Writing back, with a little more confidence in his hand, sent back the message, _Why would you want to?_

This made her nervous. One hand unconsciously went over her chest, fingers dipping into the crevice above her collarbone. Several minutes ticked by after she put the paper under her book and took some notes from the continuing lecture.

Having nothing better to do, he watched her. Gazed. He felt slight amusement at seeing her discomfort; not in a malicious manner, but in a thoughtful way. Whether or not she intended to write back, he didn't really care.

Th lollipop's plastic stick stayed dangling from the corner of his mouth; he had long finished the candy. Every so often he bit on the end, producing a crackling sound. It annoyed the students nearby, and he didn't care about that either. His thoughts were occupied with observation and decipherment.

If she was planning to write to him back, she was taking time to think about it. So she was also a cautious personality. A companion trait to her timidness, he reasoned. Gentler people tended to be this way; because they felt weak against people, they tended to act with care, knowing they were prone to hurt.

Eventually she did send back her note, reading, _Please, let's speak after class? Only for a few minutes._

Without much thinking for once, he consented.

--+

The class ended some time later. Hastily, the students, exhausted from heat and humidity, wiped their brows and necks with tissues and napkins. They scooped up their bags, slung them over their shoulders, and stamped impatiently towards the door.

L waited, willing to endure a few more moments of the room's sweltering heat for the sake of letting the exit clear of badly tempered students, all of them trying to get out at once. The professor himself had left the room as soon as he could. Being closest to the door anyway, he was easily the one out first. Better wait a few minutes for the room to clear first.

Noizi waited with him, for him? Regardless, she patiently stood and gathered her things, wiping her forehead and flushed cheeks delicately with a tissue. She offered him a clean one, but he shook his head, and she replaced it into its original pocket.

He closed the book and gripped it in his fingertips. With his right set of fingers, he returned her pencil. She smiled and nodded, placing it back in her bag. He, very slowly, being that even he was affected by the heat, and watched her walk out of the row in the opposite direction. Not sure what she was up to, he stood still and watched as she strode quietly into the row before him. Reaching him, with soft movements of her hands, she swept the little pile of his shredded candy wrapper in her hand.

Perplexed, he left the row, and she joined him, pausing to drop the bits into the trash. Beside him, she left the room, both grateful for the comfortable cool of the hallway.

Presuming her to be leading him, he obediently followed her. Her steps were carefully placed, she walked demurely; but she did not stray from his side, making sure to stay near him as he shuffled at his own pace. Not that he had any trouble walking, but he was walking at the rate he wanted to, the way he naturally preferred; he had yet to notice or to acknowledge that she was accommodating him.

Although he didn't notice Light approaching behind him, the person he was even attending a college he didn't need to, the genuine university student saw him. Having just finished a class as well, he was about to call for "Ryuga". Yet, he saw that once again, Noizi was with him. So instead, he grinned to himself, and shoulder around Kiyomi Takada, directed her in another direction, explaining to his puzzled classmate why they suddenly should go to the other way.

"Oh?" Takada turned her head, glimpsing at the backs of Ito and Ryuga. "Those two? Really?"

"Well," Light shrugged, his arm leaving her so he could place his hands in his pockets. "She was sitting with him once. When she saw me coming, she bolted, really embarrassed."

Takada shared his smile. "Are they an actual couple then?"

"I don't even think he realizes she likes him." Light chuckled. "But she's trying to do something. I don't want to bother them, especially if she's trying so hard."

"I agree." Takada thought, and asked. "You're friends with Ryuga-san. Will he accept her?"

"No, probably not." Light admitted, honestly, but somewhat uncaring, "She's most likely wasting her time."

With that, Takada frowned slightly. "Poor Ito-san."

Again, Light shrugged.

**(I'll Try Again) End**

**Ending Notes:** Note how L is being a little bit more thoughtful...and did we all notice how he intentionally made an effort to conform to what someone else wanted without thinking of himself? He was never coldhearted when it came to people just...very rational.

And by the way, if L abuses another book like that I'll beat him..if you're going to ruin a book like that, at least get a used copy..

Another somewhat-filler. I had been wondering if after the two or three scenes with L and Light at To-oh, if he even went to any classes at all after that. And Russian literature? Don't ask me why...but Ito was interested in literature the last time I wrote her, so...why not?

Little Noizi is trying again. Not hard to figure out, she'll try and confess her obvious crush on our clueless L. Good luck Ito-san. But it's not going to work... even if he does get it, you only have an inconsiderate rejection coming. Shame on you, L.

Speaking of Noizi, I'm surprised she's made a reappearance. I hadn't anticipated this...she's becoming reoccurring. Without my intention or consent. Perhaps she's more aggressive than I thought.


	7. Forgotten Shoes are Foreboding

**Author's Note:** Wouldn't it be funny if Ito-san knew L's identity, was his long lost half-sister, and was a time-traveling (half)alien with ESP?

Well she's doesn't, and isn't either of those things. And yes, that was a _The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya_ reference.

**Chapter 7: Forgotten Shoes are Foreboding**

Oblivious to the comments around them, L barely paid attention to where he was even going. It was hot outside; had she led him outside the building?

Apparently, she had, he deducted, snapping back to attention and found himself under the shade of a tree. He paused and stared up, straight above him; his neck was bent completely, exposed and leading down to acute collarbone and under his shirt, promising the same complexion under the fabric. Spots of light, abstract and varying in size and shape, peered down at him and his immediate surroundings, swaying with the breeze.

A few paces ahead of him, Noizi stopped as well, turning and gazing back at him. "Ryuga-kun?"

"San."

"Excuse me?"

L slowly turned his head down again, eyes staring at her. "I'm older than you, you know. Isn't 'kun' generally used when addressing someone younger or of the same age?"

She paused, perplexed but not missing a step, and consented. "I suppose. Alright. I'll refer to you as 'san', then."

A small smile appeared on his lips a moment before they became somewhat distorted under the pressure of his thumb, again at his mouth, chewing softly on the soft flesh.

After that, she continued to lead him, eventually landing them in the campus' café. She took him to a corner of the modernly decorated place. Spacious, semi-transparent plastic blue tables matched with chairs were located generously apart from each other.

"Please wait here." Her voice was, as always, soft, unassuming, and he obediently sat in his chair, immediately his legs pulled up so his knees almost touched his chest. The seat was somewhat small, and the front of his feet spilled over the edge after he rid them of his dreaded shoes.

She left him for only a few minutes, returning with a brown plastic tray, topped with two cups of coffee and a handful of sweets. As she sat she served him one of the blue ceramic mugs on its plate, along with a spoon.

"Please," her eyes stared at the tray in front of them, and carefully not at him. "Help yourself."

"How generous." He observed. His fingers slipped into his pocket, and pulled out several bills; he had short knowledge of the world outside his quarters, but he had learned to keep at least some money with him. "But you can't simply treat me. Here."

She blinked again as he dropped an obscene amount of money on the table for what she had bought. "Ryuga...san. That's...much more than all of it costed."

"Well, I wouldn't know." He confessed, and tipped the container of sugar so it poured sugar into his coffee.

A moment went by, tepid for him and awkward for her, before she tidily gathered the bills in her hands and slid them back across the table to her companion, who was ultimately more interested in his cup, the ratio swiftly shifting from coffee to sugar. His eyes settled on the bills, then questioningly raised them to her face. Discovering something of interest outside, her large brown eyes quickly shifted outside; the wall of the café being composed mainly of sleek glass, there was probably quite a lot to see.

Not noticing her reddened cheeks, he followed her gaze outside. What was there to see?

His blank eyes scanned what he could see; students passing by, occasionally a professor, trees, benches, a water fountain. So what was so interesting here?

As his face turned back to their table, he caught her eyes on his face, upon her noticing they quickly averted elsewhere.

What was she looking at now?

Again his eyes turned correspondingly to hers, and only saw the giant boards with the cafe's menu on the wall.

He didn't understand, and he mildly lamented for a moment his lack of understanding, before those thoughts were forgotten. One hand carefully took the bills from the table with some difficulty, as they were flat, and rather tricky to obtain through fingertips alone.

Upon her observation of this, she assembled the paper bills and handed them to his large, bony hand, which accepted them and returned the money to his pocket.

No words were needed for this particular exchange, and she picked up her cup, sipping it slowly, her eyes stubbornly refusing to rise from the edge of the table in front of her classmate.

While she silently pondered, he selected a donut, rather appetizing to him, and licked at the sweet strawberry icing.

"You...like strawberries?"

He looked at her, but her eyes were still pointedly not focused on him. "Strawberries?"

A shy smile behind the rim of her cup. "The lollipop was strawberry, wasn't it? And...you picked that one first."

For a moment he studied her. "You've been watchful of me."

Biting her lip, perhaps harder than she should have, her eyes further digressed from their goal subject. "Maybe a little."

"Ito-san," He spoke through an impressive bite of the baked sweet. "Did you bring me here for a reason?"

No response was immediate from her, and he tried again, "Is there a reason for this?"

After a minute, she set down the mug, carefully, and reached into the front pocket of her bag purposely. Retrieving a slip of what L could make out as paper, she slid it across the table to him. Upon its uneventful arrival, he picked it up and examined.

"A ticket?" He noted, "For an art gallery..."

"Yes." She nodded meekly, her voice instantly dropping to a lower volume. "There's an opening this Saturday..."

Most likely, for anyone else, things would have clicked into place by if not previous clues, than by this. Yet, the greatest detective in the world only frowned, puzzled. Why was she trying to hard to...get his attention? Spend time with him? What was her goal with him? For a fleeting moment he wondered if she were connected to Kira, a design to lure out information about him, perhaps to deduce if he were really L. If that were the case, then that would strengthen his suspicion against Light Yagami.

"What for?" He finally asked.

"For..." she trailed off a moment. "For...fun, I suppose."

"Recreational purposes..." He mused, and she nodded.

"I plan to be there on Saturday at 3 PM..." She took a gulp of coffee. "I'll wait at the...main entrance."

By now the donut he had chosen was effectively devoured, and so was another pastry and a second donut. She was still daintily picking at a muffin.

Still not following; but a trickle of endless contemplating finally began to thoughtfully enter the situation. His eyes peered at her as she continued.

"If...you want to come." The grip on her cup had strengthened considerably. "I'll wait there. Hold onto...that ticket. Just in case, you...want to come. With me."

The last two words were added so quietly his ears had barely picked up on them. Time at an art gallery with Ito-san? A proposition of the like he had never encountered before. But, of course, he had duties, responsibilities, he couldn't spend time wandering around a museum with some girl.

His lips had just parted to respond when his cell phone loudly rang in his pocket, and he drew it out. Holding it carefully between orchestrated fingers, he listened in.

"Understood..." he muttered. "Alright.."

He returned the phone to his pocket, and stood. "I regret, Ito-san, I have to leave now."

If she was surprised, she didn't quite look the part. "Alright, I understand. I'm sorry, I brought you here on short notice."

"Yes, you did." He agreed, not catching the obvious lapse of judgement at saying such a thing. Now she looked quite taken aback, perhaps even frightened, and he stuck his hands in his pockets. "But you fed me pretty well; thank you."

Again she bit her lip and nodded. Two bills of money were placed over the top of her now empty mug. Curiously, she glanced up at him, to find a very soft smile upon his lips.

"Take it anyway." Somewhat of an order, and without another word he shuffled out of the café, his back appropriately bent as per normal. It was a few minutes later that she realized...he'd forgotten his shoes.

**Forgotten Shoes Are Foreboding End**

**Ending Notes:** Oh god. Someone. Please. Hit L. He needs it.

But he's finally starting to get it, though full understanding will take some time. Except, he'll never -fully- comprehend, will he?

Sorry about the second consecutive chapter of Noizi and L. I didn't realize when I wrote the last chapter I'd backed myself into a corner and writing about what happened, but I think it has crucial scenes anyway. He's actually starting to notice her actions and taking interest, being why he kept looking where she was, and is slowly becoming more considerate, offering money and whatnot.

If it wasn't obvious from the chapter title, he's probably going to skip the gallery on Saturday, or forget it completely. Sorry Ito-san, because you're really very cute and fun to write.

Finally, I've decided where to take this story...so now I'll focus on pacing and making it more interesting, because I still feel it's a little dull...but it's moving along naturally..


	8. Dark, Sanctity, a Soupcon of Light

**Author's Note:** Yes, we've established:

- Once outside his direct comfort zone, L is an idiot.

- Awkward L Cute.

It's interesting that people are sympathizing with Noizi, and are actually...encouraging her? Well it certainly would make it easier to write, but I don't want it turning into a romance, because it's so boringly simple to write how 'a person changes through love'...and all that crap.

Sorry Noizi, you're still out of luck.

**Chapter 8: The Dark, the Sanctity, and a Soupcon of Light**

Outside a window, the sun slipped behind the horizon of tall buildings. The light was gone faster than elsewhere, the cruel spell of the urban Tokyo, that robbed citizens of sunlight quicker and yet gave them a night by which to still hum with life. One could argue the exchange was fair; the night life of a city did not match that of a suburb, and people still strode in electric-filled sidewalks, illuminated by street lamps and the hallowing glow of store fronts and windows.

As orange aurora in the sky died for the overtaking blue, purple, and final black of the night. The interior of his domain maintained the illusion of day. Still light poured from his window to the outside world, though it would not reach the streets, would contribute nothing to the people clinging to areas of light; it would appear only a dot from this elevation, maybe to be mistaken for a star.

His sanctity of light of generic hotel decor and platters of sweets and other sugared consumables, would not be touched. For the duration of his stay here, he _owned_ this space, _owned_ it. He had paid for it, given money for his hole in the wall in which to dwell.

The furniture was atypical to his taste; he had been hasty in purchasing his temporary space. To a slightly more modern design the chairs were of steel skeletons and dark cushions, black leather cushions covering the bare frames, and the thick glass table rested on a bed of black metal for its support.

For a hotel, it was not what he desired, and yet, he still had a strong sense of possession. It was _his_ until he left the next evening. And he was aware of this, knowing well his childish tendencies. Over the years he had examined all of them as they appeared, and made note of which ones faded with his youth and which had concreted into his personality. He did not accept losing anything, any game, with maturity, he did not like to be with people who didn't listen to him and didn't do as he said, and he did not like his things to be touched.

And yet, it was going to be invaded again very soon. His front teeth nibbling on a soft donut, finding himself standing beside the window again as he anticipated this violation. It was rather large, and he peered out at the high rise buildings across the street; it was as far out into the night he could gaze into. He much preferred the hotel before last, where it rose sharply above the surrounding buildings.

Several minutes ticked by as he finished the food clutched between his fingertips, and as he licked the ends of his fingers, he paused. Placid blank eyes widened further. Distinctly, he had heard another drone of a bell.

He had been hearing these melodious knells quite often recently, hadn't he? Only a few weeks ago, he had heard them. And in the heart of Tokyo was this sound returning to him. The resounding chime brushed at his memory, and he bit his own lip.

To suppress memories, was that an immature thing to do? Was it an adult thing? What did it make him to try and focus on the here and now, and dismiss useless thoughts? Memories were quite useless to him unless they were significant to something he was doing. Unless they aided him in an investigation, the chances of which were .0009 percent, they played no role for him.

And yet, they were pricking at his mind. Images of a church, cobblestone streets, and his childhood home flashed behind his eyes, replaying through his mind like an old movie. Grainy and in pallid color they flickered by his conscience, licking incessantly at his mind.

Good God, how had he forgotten so much?

Feeling slightly perturbed, he promptly returned to the chair he had selected as _his_, his own chair in this room, and sat in his distinctive crouch, hands on his knees.

Why couldn't he remember the color of the doors? The tiles on the bathroom floor? An image of a wind chime fluttering in a breeze, hanging at the corner of a window. It was a sunny day, it reflected off the metal rods that caused the gentle tinkles. The corner of some furniture, a table perhaps, was cutting into this particular vision in one corner, a dark diagonal cut. White tiles and a blue wall surrounded the window.

Why did he remember this so vividly? So distinctly? Where even _was_ this scene? And it was from a low perspective. Was he sitting? Or was this a moment of his youth he suddenly recalled?

The fingers on his knees clenched more tightly. Now he was recalling the feel of grass under his feet. Cool soil gave way under his weight, the terrain beneath him switching between patches of foliage and of earth. When was the last time grass had tickled his feet?

Again the stubborn bells persisted, chiming delicately, but durably, encouraging him. And against his conscious will, the memories pushed, shoved, at his mind. He could swear he felt stone under his fingers. Somewhat hacked into a flat shape, but not smooth, still retaining a rigid, rough surface. It was vertical, flat; a wall?

Perhaps.

As he did on a rare occasion, he closed his eyes. More like a very slow blink, his normally wide, spherical eyes shut closed, the still black eyes hidden behind his eyelids. For almost a two, no, three seconds, he kept them shut. Then he opened them again.

The room was still empty, devoid of any other human besides himself. Several more minutes would go by before the rest of the task force joined him through the door directly to his right. He leaned forward, at the little round alarm clock, a gunpowder blue, that he had snatched earlier from the bedroom he didn't touch once, which always left the maid perplexed, he was sure. He wouldn't know; he always carefully exited the room before even the maid could catch a glimpse of him.

The spindly little dial told him it was another 11 minutes before the other members were due to arrive.

He had stopped his personal work 19 minutes ago, to genuinely pause for food and for the brief relaxation. Preparing for the coming of 5 people he had slowly become more familiar with, and he had to admit, he was becoming less resentful of their company.

Without warning, more memories gushed to the front of his mind, and he bit his lip. What was it this time?

The same window, the wind chime gone; outside thunder rumbled, an ethereal roar in his ears. As he watched, it began to rain; not a gentle, soothing rain, a pounding rain, one he had watched about a week ago, out another hotel window.

He just noticed, the perspective was different; if he had to be honest, he felt the same table under the palm of his hand, and he was staring out of the window, now much more level to the opening. Had he grown, or had he just stood up?

As he watched his own memory, a specter of his past body from that moment, however long ago, he studied the surroundings more carefully. As the wind blew some curtains into the room, he felt the fabric rub his face, and a spatter of rainwater land on his cheek.

Instead of backing away, he remembered, relived, leaning closer to the window. Was he looking for something?

Suddenly he felt something on his hand, and it startled him, and he began to turn, to see what had disturbed whatever he had been doing.

This particular vision stopped there, and puzzled, he reached for a plate of cake, before he paused, and pulled his hand back, the tip of his thumb instantly going to between his teeth.

Despite his superior intellect, his vast knowledge, his wealth of wisdom was lacking. And for a moment, he thought this ridiculous; he was a fully grown man, he was no longer in touch with childhood, not even a speck of adolescence remained within him. He had life experiences, lessons he had learned and teachings he had undergone while living his life. And why could he not think of them? A truth he had concreted in his mind, subconsciously absorbed into his personality?

A man of logic, he found himself frustrated trying to understand. His logic should be able to understand this. His mind should be able to process this.

More and more lately, his own mind had begun to play tricks on him, forcing misunderstandings to him, and letting solid conclusions slip by like water between his fingers. No matter what, some things refused to be pinned down by his relentless logic, no matter how many nets of which he had thrown at the infuriating pitfalls of understanding.

Slowly, gently, his head dropped, feeling defeated. He _hated_ losing, _abhorred_ it. And he was losing the game against his own mind, something he felt he had conquered long ago. No, this was wrong, he had to missing something somewhere, his _own mind_, could not be tricking him. _Betraying_ him, what was he doing by mistake that was missing his ever-ardent observations?

His head fell more, and slowly his arms folded themselves across his knees. Gradually his forehead touched them, settled there, he didn't notice. He was searching endlessly, pressing forward in his thoughts. Growing increasingly frustrated, he bit his lip fiercely, angry in his own loss. From where this 'game' came from, the origin of that which brutally, but inaudibly, pervaded his thick coat of logic-formed security, he did not know. But it had penetrated, and he felt a sting in his chest, deep within him.

Something was missing. Some piece of the puzzle was remaining hidden. It had to, for it to escape his superior mind. Not for much longer, however; he would grasp this truth, this root of this trouble that had given him anxiety, and taken his most dear protection away from him.

--

Whispering quietly amongst themselves, the task force members followed Watari up the elevator.

"We're not any closer, are we?" Mumbled Soichiro, his fingers rubbing in the dents of his skin his glasses had left on his nose. "We've observed some of the details of Kira's powers, but still don't know how he's doing this."

"Come on, Chief," Matsuda's smile did not cease, and silently it irritated the members around him. "We have Ryuzaki with us, we'll figure it out, I'm sure."

"That's true, but..." Aizawa trailed off as they stepped off the elevator. He had wanted to mention he still wasn't sure how much they could entrust to L, but Watari's presence had reminded him it was not the time.

Their conversation slowly ceased as Watari opened the door, and as they filed in, they scanned the room and found a peculiar sight.

L was sitting in his chair, but his head was down on his arms.

Watari closed the door behind them, and although he was curious, he instead took off his coat and hung it on the rack by the door, falling back behind the group he had led.

"Um...Ryuzaki?" Matsuda was the first over there, and he inspected the mass of wild black hair, fallen in different places and at different angles. "Are you okay?"

The other members were as perplexed as any other in the room. Soizhiro made his way over, and observed him silently for a minute. "Is he sleeping?"

Matsuda's brow furrowed. "I guess so."

"Sleeping?" Aizawa sighed, agitated. "Come on, why's he sleeping? We're supposed to be working now."

"We don't know how long he stays awake," Matsuda tried to defend him, his tone somewhat enfeebled under Aizawa's stern look. "And he's probably working too."

"Well we can't just let him keep sleeping," Ide offered, "Our time here is precious."

With some reluctance, with the care of a loving father, Soichiro's large hand settled on L's shoulder and shook him slightly. "Ryuzaki...? Ryuzaki."

Maybe not much of a heavy sleeper, it was only a few more seconds until the muscles under Soichiro's hand stirred and L picked his shaggy head up, blinking sleepily twice before they fully opened. His face was slightly flushed from sleep, and his eyes quickly awakened to their normal pose, glancing around the room to find all the members there. On the other side of the room, he saw Watari going about his duties.

"Pardon me." He said simply, and his arms unfolded, hands resting again on his knees. "I must have dozed off."

A faint smile came across Soichiro's mouth, very much the face of an experienced father, who had indeed woken many dozing children, maybe for school and maybe to raise them from the desk they had fallen asleep on for dinner. "That's alright."

"Anyway." L yawned discreetly behind his hand. "Let's get started. Watari, some coffee, please."

**The Dark, the Sanctity, and a Soupcon of Light - End**

**Ending Notes:** L is finally beginning to realize there are parts to life he's missing. Intelligence won't solve all of life's problems, L, and it won't help you get a date either, even though...you already have one. You just don't know it yet.

Oops. I just realized that Soichiro's heart attack was quite a while ago, and the Second Kira should have been around a while already. Where is she? My apologies, that was quite a big lapse of plot. But L and Light aren't chained together and they're not confined yet, so it has to be somewhere between volumes 4 and 5, am I right? I'm just going by memory. I want to do it somewhat accurate to the story...

-curses under breath- I'm doing my best to get along without them, but...and I don't think the library has those volumes for me to borrow...I would put the story on hiatus until I got them back, but I don't know when that will be, and simply put, my imagination doesn't wait for practical purposes.


	9. The Day Turns Saturnine

**Author's Note:** I was on vacation for a couple of days, which kept me away from fanfiction and writing in general. And I'm struck by a little writer's block. Sorry.

**Chapter 9: The Day Turns Saturnine**

Troubled as he was, L could find no remedy. Since what some might call his revelation, his thoughts refused to stay whole. Although his logic about the Kira case had not been disturbed, when he _wasn't _thinking about it, his mind stubbornly diverted on a tangent and explored parts of his mind he hadn't bothered with before.

His childhood, his adolescence, they were of no use to him. But relentlessly, in points of relaxation, he was struck with eerie restlessness. Memories, thoughts, flashes of insight of things that had happened years ago, relentlessly plagued him as a sweet toxin.

L didn't _want_ them, didn't _need_ them. Why was his mind betraying him like this? Like river they flowed nonstop whenever he tried to give his mind a period of rest. No matter what he may be doing, he couldn't control it.

Although this hadn't happened suddenly. From that one night in the hotel, from his sleep in his chair as the other task force members found him(which he found slightly embarrassing), it had started. It had begun as a trickle, and he ignored it. Gradually it had swelled, and by the time he noticed, he had lost his grip on his mind.

The idea that he maintained no leash on his thoughts or on his mind shook him. He wondered if it was normal, or at least typical enough for ordinary people that he wouldn't have to worry about it. Of course people had memories, but were their minds simply allowed to steer themselves, to drive itself into parts they abhorred to explore?

To an extent, the young man wondered if he was truly going insane. A sudden change such as this was not normal, couldn't be. He had long gotten used to how his mind worked, and controlled it, mastered his own thoughts. Suddenly, they had slipped out from under his fingers, pulled the floor out from under his feet, and he reeled with realization.

Without control, he had nothing.

And it was that which had allowed fear to stealthily intrude him.

_Shinigami_

It had been enough to make him scream.

Had he really lost it? No, a shinigami could not exist. Not a death god, not a phantom of legends and of myths. Shaking with fear he had fallen to the floor, his breath short and labored from his cry of panic at something that wasn't even there. Eyes locked to the screen, his fingertips dug into the carpet on the floor, "It can't be...are we expected to believe that Shinigami exist?"

His breath hitched slightly, and he disguised it with a sip of tea. It was the first time in years he had felt such acute fear.

Currently, the members were relaxing. They had been pouring over data and theories for hours, resting in a circle around the table on the couch and chairs. He found himself by the window again with his cup between his docile fingers. Gazing out through the glass, he took a last long look, then turned away. Windows could be quite bothersome.

Someone had turned on the television. Pausing as he passed behind the couch, he looked on as a young couple of a drama reminisced about their childhood. About ice creams they had shared and the park they went to and the tree they had shared their first kiss-

Too much, and frowning, he took the remote control and flipped it off.

"H-hey!" Matsuda looked up. "It wasn't the best show, but we only have a few minutes to relax, you know?"

"Then watch something better." He tossed the remote back onto an empty cushion, stripes of pale pink and blue, and one or two of the others laughed gently at his comment.

What, he was _funny_ now?

Somewhat feeling disdainful, he gulped down the rest of his coffee. To hell with it. Crap like that shouldn't even be allowed on television. Of course, his annoyance caused him to forget that a couple of months ago, he had watched the very same things for superficial amusement.

"Ryuuzaki," Watari caught the room's attention as he walked in with a pair of jeans in his hand. "I was about to send these to be washed when I found this in the pocket."

He placed it onto the table in front of the couch, and, with slight misfortune, in front of the other members. A little slip of paper, and L recognized it immediately. "Oh. That."

"Can I see?" Matsuda asked, and at a permissive nod, he picked it up. Upon examination, he declared, "A gallery ticket?"

Shrugging, he answered, "Someone invited me from the university."

"Who?"

"Could it be," Light smirked, "Ito-san?"

"How'd you know?" L tilted his head.

"Ito-san, hm?" A grin came across Matsuda's face. "Who's Ito-san?"

Suddenly, L felt that perhaps he should have just thrown out the ticket when he'd gotten it. But he'd forgotten it was there, what could he do? Hadn't even put in enough thought to remember he had it.

"A girl at our university." Light laughed. "She's been around you quite a lot, hasn't she?"

"Oh _really?_" Matsuda was apparently sharing in some joke with Light that L, scornfully, did not understand. "Is she pretty? Smart?"

"What does that matter?" L frowned, feeling himself under the gaze of several pairs of eyes, teasing and actually interested in what was transpiring, and for the love of _God_, what was he missing that everyone else understood?

"It does matter. When is this for?" Matsuda insisted, and took another glance at the ticket, then at his watch. "It's 12:33, so technically, it's for today. When are you two going to meet, huh?"

"I'm not meeting her." Irritated, L reached over and snatched the ticket out of the hand of the younger detective, who pouted for a moment. "She didn't ask me to come."

"She didn't?" Light's grin had turned into a smirk. "What'd she say, then?"

"All she told me was that she'd be there at 3, and if I wanted to come, I could."

Not understanding even now, he actually felt his vexation deepen as the men in front of him attempted to hide chuckles behind their hands or simply hold it in. Ide was the only one who seemed perhaps as perplexed as L.

"Ito-san is shy." Light explained. "That's all she would have said, isn't it?"

"What's there to be shy about?"

Matsuda laughed. For months having felt inferior to the crowd around him, he was relishing his moment of having the upper hand, however brief it would be. "Oh come on. You're the world's greatest detective, what don't you get?"

"Whatever it is you're laughing at." L snapped, his tone biting with frustration. This was a good example of _why_ he didn't like people. Irrational, pretending to be clever; and he hated, of course, when people knew something he didn't.

"You have a date."

"What?" L's brows formed another frown. "We're not dating."

"She _invited_ you on one." Light shook his head, in disbelief things had to be spelled out to such a degree. "She gave you that to go _with_ her. Because she _likes_ you."

"Likes me?" He echoed. "No, I wouldn't say that."

"I would."

The other members were watching in amusement at the conversation. A discussion between polar opposites such as L and Light was always interesting, but this happened to be particularly attractive to listen to at the moment. Even Aizawa, normally the most insistent about work, followed the scene. A person widely accepted to be both fascinating and mysterious as L made this quite the welcome discovery.

"Why say that?"

"I didn't want to have to just tell you, for Ito-san's sake." Light admitted, "But you're going to do more damage if you stay in the dark about it. She clearly likes you, Ryuuzaki. People have been talking about it."

"They have? Why?" Finally in a position to be obtaining answers, he ignored both that he was annoyingly at the mercy of Light's worldly knowledge, and the onlookers were finding entertainment in his ignorance.

"It's interesting, is all."

"She doesn't feel that way about me, Light-kun. I'm certain you're reaching too much into it."

"Oh really?" Light adjusted his collar, and crossed his legs. "Because to everyone else, it's pretty obvious."

"Ito-san didn't technically ask me to go with her-" L stopped, and thought back. Actually, she _had_ requested for him to go with her. "Why would she want me to anyway?"

Light caught the hesitation. He recognized L was finally beginning to understand, and he smirked. "Because she likes you."

"And what else?"

"What do you mean 'what else'?" Light resisted another laugh. "That's all there is to it. She wanted you to go with her. She likes you, is interested in you."

"Interested how?"

"Didn't I just tell you?" Light smiled. "Ito-san likes you, is interested in romantic involvement."

A moment went by, and L's wrinkled brow deepened, his thumb at his lips. Calculating what he'd heard, at long last it began to register. All eyes in the room were on him, though at the present he didn't notice so much.

"Why should she be interested in such involvement with me?"

The statement sent most of the people in the room mentally reeling, and Light tried again, giving the infuriating reply. "You'll have to go to find out, won't you?"

"Whoever said I was going to go, Light-kun?" L walked back around the couch, and accepted another cup of coffee Watari offered him on a silver tray. "I can't spare the time to cater to a girl."

"Why not go?" Matsuda interrupted. "It's just a few hours, and maybe-"

"Maybe what?" L interjected, "It'd be a waste of time."

There was a pause, and Light shook his head. "No, wait a second, Ryuzaki. It's not just about you. You realize that, don't you?"

"So, what does it matter?" L sipped his coffee.

"Don't be so selfish." Light chided.

"Selfish?"

"Think of her feelings." Light explained. "Even if you're just going to reject her, it's better than letting her keep trying."

"If I don't go at all, she'll get the message, won't she?" L said simply. "I won't be going to the university much longer at all anyway. Another two weeks, at most. I'll never see her after that time anyway. What's the point?"

"The point is to be considerate if she's trying so hard." Light himself was feeling frustration well up. Anything else, _anything_, and he and L were equals, and yet the man was incredibly thick when discussing this subject. "To just not give her an answer and leave her wondering is not fair."

"It's not important if I'm 'considerate' or not." L responded. "She's a clever girl, she'll get it."

"Ohh, you called her clever!"

"Shut up, Matsuda."

Light shook his head, then rubbed his temple with two fingers. "Ryuzaki, being serious..."

"We weren't serious?"

_God_ could he be annoying sometimes. Light sighed, and told him, "Just go. But if you want my advice, I'd give her a chance. Spend a few hours with her, what could it hurt?"

"It couldn't." L concluded, tugging at a piece of flyaway hair in his eye. "But it'd be a waste of time. If there was any hurt in the situation, it'd be that. Time is precious, Light-kun."

"You never know, Ryuzaki." Soichiro broke into the conversation. "Maybe it would be worth the time. People have a way of surprising you, and not always for the worst."

"Why are we even talking about dating and girls?" Aizawa's tone was stern. He had sensed the need for the conversation to end. "We've slacked off long enough."

"I see your point, we'll get back to work soon." Light answered, "But even so. Ryuzaki, go ahead and take a break, go out with her. If you don't feel differently by the end, then reject her."

"I plan on rejecting her." L stated, and crawled into his chair, the cup held mysteriously in the same spot in the air. His arm maneuvered to keep it in place as he settled down, then brought it to his lips. "But why should I spend hours in doing it? I'll tell her when I see her."

For the next few minutes, the room was uneasy, until they got back to work. At around one in the morning, they all left for home.

Left alone, L finished the cake he had been consuming as they had prepared to leave. He stared at the ticket on the table. Innocent as the girl who had given it to him, it was the same amount of trouble. His gaze rested on the simple white paper, imprinted with black and green ink, surrounded by the deep mahogany of the wood it rested on. The room had been darkened, only illuminated by a desk lamp and another separate one in the corner. The yellow glow was cast upon his hunched form, allotting a golden radiation upon his pale skin and across his dark hair. The sharp, dark shadows contrasted him further, wrapping around the corners and folds of him opposite the light.

Never had he faced such circumstances. Unimaginable things he had seen, the most vile criminals, the most disgusting cases, and this had slipped by him. Lack of experience, it appeared, had only given him a disadvantage, which was very slowly beginning to fill. A void he hadn't even realized existed.

Gently, he leaned forward, and his dexterous hands obediently brought the thick paper over to him, unable to simple fixate his eyes on it any longer. Examining it, he flipped it over, twice, and looked at the front. The date had been printed on it, and today was Saturday, and matched the designated day which it was to be used. No mistaking, he had very little time, he felt, to contemplate his circumstances.

-+-+-+-

Beautiful had the day begun. And yet it had soured. Clouds had mingled overhead since morning, but now they had festered, and threatened to give way their protection under rain. The breeze too, heavy and thick with moisture, naturally paired with the gray sky the hazes had conjured.

A drop of wet upon the pavement, then another. The rain began slowly.

Glancing upward, Noizi sighed softly, and reached into her bag, producing an umbrella she then opened and positioned above her. In her left hand, a plastic bag held a pair of shoes, white sneakers much too big for her own feet.

She wore a white dress over a modest shirt, and underneath a denim jacket; the skirt reached her knees, and ruffled around her legs, carried by the wind. Hair secured by a large white clip on the back of her head, the remainder falling delicately at the back of her neck, like the long, wilting fingers of a weeping willow tree. Although she had convinced herself it didn't altogether matter how she looked, that more effort on her part was wasted, she had found herself fretting more than normal as she prepared earlier that day.

Standing straight, more nervous than she appeared; anxious, anticipating. Despite that she knew what truth she would likely have to stop denying to herself, she had faithfully kept her word and came and waited at 3 o'clock.

Slipping the bag over her wrist for a moment, she pulled her thin jacket closer to herself, the air cooled by the promise of rain. Then she checked her watch. Currently it was 3:25. How long should she wait? Yes, her ticket was in her bag, in a small zipped pocket in the front.

Glancing around, she ignored the people hurrying to get indoors. Within moments the street was empty, and she waited, elevated on the stone steps of the gallery, still looking up and down the street.

**(The Day Turns Saturnine) End**

**Ending Notes:** So L finally got it, but it had to be thoroughly explained to him, and there are still gaps in his knowledge. Nice.

I seemingly answered one of the many questions surrounding L. Apparently he just has a lot of the same set of clothes.

Actually, Light's words are my words too.

Yay for short author notes.


End file.
